


A Boy And His Dragon

by myt4



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 10:36:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19083310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myt4/pseuds/myt4
Summary: THE GOOD NEWS: Viserys finally hatched his own dragon! THE BAD NEWS: It's Smaug.





	1. 1

It hadn't been intentional.

 

Yes, she was dead. Yes, I'd killed her. But if she hadn't gone on, and on, long past my endurance, kept me away from the eggs, and said those things -- woken the dragon...

 

My hands shook. They were sticky, and smelled of iron. My blood and hers. The dragon's egg felt slippery and warm in my fingers. And then, the dragon's egg slipped. It thumped on the ground, rolled into the fire and sat there. My mouth tasted of stale wine. The flames' crackling hammered in my ears.

 

What was I going to do _now_?

 

I hadn't understood my fear at the time. The girl had only been a maid, after all, and she'd left me with cuts and a bloody lip in the bargain.

 

But she had been Dany's maid, you see. And even then, I realized what my sister and her horse-fucking husband could do to me, if they chose. Or Ser Jorah, the traitor. If they found me with the egg, and a dead woman...

 

More wine. I needed it. Where was it? Wine and something to wipe the blood off. And then I could slip out.

 

Oh, I'd avenge myself on them all, eventually. I even told myself that the maid was a downpayment on that promise. But grand proclamations about revenge did not occupy my thoughts long.

 

Instead, I tore through cushions and various tent accoutrements. Gold and fine incense and silk. I ought to have paid more attention to the sounds coming from the fire. I only noticed after I'd found the last of the Myrish wine, and was trying to steady the bottle to my lips.

 

And then, I realized that the fireplace was crackling rather differently.

 

_click_

 

_snick_

 

_chip_

 

The bottle slipped from my lips, spilling wine on my chest. Though I barely noticed at the time.

 

Yellow eyes watched me from the fireplace. A baby dragon unfurled its wings, which were so thin that you could see the tongues of flame through them. Its mouth opened and closed, panting.

 

The dragon shook the last remains of egg from its head, and gave a high-pitched little _"snirrrrll."_

 

Do I need tell you how hard my chest was hammering? I doubt it will stretch your imagination much; the histories are honest enough on that point.

 

The histories don't say anything about its eyes, though. On that tiny face, the eyes stood out more prominently. They stared _through_ you, yellow and hungry.

 

"D-...what?" I said. "Can it--"

 

 _A miracle,_ I thought. And I felt warmth in my chest, relief mixing itself with my previous fear.

 

 _No,_ I thought. _Something else to lose._

 

And then, I was scrambling.

 

"A shawl," I muttered. "Something to cover it. Get -- we have to get out before anyone sees--"

 

"On the floor, behind you," peeped the dragon.

 

The voice alone would have been enough to make me jump. Its source, moreso.

 

"Gaargh!" I shouted, and fell back into a nest of cushions. I scanned the room wildly, but the only thing was--

 

"On the floor," the dragon said again, in a high-pitched voice. "Behind you. A shawl."

 

This was new. And it took me a moment to regain my bearings.

 

"What? What are--?"

 

"A dragon," said the dragon.

 

"But--but you can't talk."

 

"In that case, you've gone mad," said the dragon. "But the shawl is behind you, just the same."

 

I stooped to pick it up, feeling a bit awkward.

 

"We shall leave now," said the dragon. "To fix your mess."

 

It was a testament to the oddity of the situation that I actually began to wrap the dragon up, mechanically, without protest. It peeked through the shawl like a twisted infant.

 

_Wait, though..._

 

"The other eggs," I said. "Where are--"

 

"The others will not hatch, _Khal Rhaggat_ ," said the dragon. "Not for you. You've already had your miracle."

 

"Of course they -- what did you call me?"

 

His yellow eyes locked on mine. They were deep eyes; the sort you'd drown in. The dragon smiled with his nest of needle-teeth.

 

"Viserys Targaryen," said the dragon. "Sorefoot King. Cart King. Beggar King."

 

It hit me like a blow.

 

"...Thief," the dragon added.

 

"How did you-- You dare to--"

 

"Go on," he said. "Dash my skull on the ground. Perhaps your sister will keep you around, out of pity. Perhaps she'll plead your case to the Khal, while he mounts her. Beggar King."

 

The dragon gave a mocking hiss.

 

I should have done it. I truly should have crushed his skull under my boot. But he knew me, even back then, and played me like an instrument. And just hatched, too.

 

"I'll...spare you," I managed. "We're bound, and you're mine, so --"

 

"No," he said. "We are bound, but you are _mine_. And stop looking for the other eggs, boy. I told you. You'll have no other dragons."

 

He looked around the room, taking everything in through those yellow viper's eyes.

 

"And we will go," he added. "It's evening. We have arrangements to make, and your situation is precarious."

 

"I...yes. Dany's wedding feast. I can slip out, and --"

 

"Quiet," he said. "I'm thinking. Also, I will have a name."

 

"You want--Is this really the time? Aegon, then. And it's my plan, dragon. Not yours. I'm your king--"

 

"No," the dragon said, narrowing his eyes. "You misunderstand, boy. You will not name me. I will name myself. And I shall be...Smaug, I think."

 

"Smaug?"

 

The dragon shrugged his little batlike wings, and pushed his foreclaws together.

 

"Smaug," he said. "It has character. Smaug the Golden. Smaug the Impenetrable--"

 

"Smaug the laughable. It's a terrible name, and I already chose to name you Aegon."

 

The dragon huffed a puff of steam, and glared at me.

 

"Pah," he said, with a wave of his claw. "You'll choose nothing, boy. You're mine."

 

And then, the dragon ran a claw over his snout. The leathery flaps around his eyes made him appear far older.

 

The dragon's gaze passed from the broken eggshell, and alighted on a golden lamp that I'd overturned earlier. It was a distant, yearning, needful expression. Like a man in a brothel. Staring, and staring at the gold.

 

"I feel...attached to the name, somehow," he said. "The philosophers once said that our souls remember things...names, mathematical propositions... You've heard that? Eh? Never mind. Why ask a fool about the stars?"

 

I squeezed the hilt of my sword.

 

"I may not be able to kill you," I said, "but you'll find other punishments are available to me if you wake the dragon."

 

"Wake the--hah!" he said.

 

He poked his head through the shawl.

 

There was a cold something that passed from his eyes to me. A shudder ran through me. This wasn't a momentary shiver from a bit of cold. It was an intense shaking that I couldn't stop. I felt ice in my stomach. My hand loosened and dropped.

 

I fell back into the cushions. The dragon crawled over my chest and looked at me nose-to-nose like a monstrous cat.

 

"Let me give you a bit of advice, boy," he said. "Never abuse something that will grow smarter and more powerful than you."

 

I was still unable to stop shaking.

 

"Or shall I swear allegiance your _sister_ instead?" he said. "Hm?"

 

He waited. It wasn't long.

 

"S-Smaug, then," I said.

 

As I've already noted: he had my measure, even back then. Clever worm.

 


	2. 2

"Wh-what are you doing?" I said.

 

Smaug looked up from the body. Blood dripped from his muzzle, contrasting with his stark white, needle-sharp teeth. He cracked a piece of skull in his jaws as if it was an eggshell.

 

"I'msh--" he swallowed, "I'm eating the maid."

 

" _That doesn't answer my question!_ "

 

"It does," said Smaug, and took another bite. "If you want -- om -- to be undershtood, ashk the right questionsh...Mmm."

 

My stomach heaved. The wine I'd drunk felt dangerously close to coming back up.

 

"Stop -- stop spraying the maid on the carpet and tell me what's going on," I said.

 

Smaug held up a tiny index-talon, and breathed fire on a choice morsel before popping it into his mouth. He licked each digit in turn, and then stretched out like a contented cat.

 

"You'll see in a moment," he said. "Now. Grab the body. Put her...by the fire. Yes."

 

I learned that dead bodies are heavier than they look. It was as if the maid's bones had gone out of her. And the fabric of her dress was slimy with blood. Smaug oversaw the work while lying on his back, nestling into a cushion. It was hard to concentrate with those eyes on me; thinking was like walking through a fog.

 

"Now then..." he said. "From what you tell me, you've made a terrible mess of your life. But I'm going to give you a chance to avoid the numerous people who -- justifiably, mind -- want to kill you. Tip that brazier over, and listen carefully..."

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

It was like moving through a dream. The strangest thing was how normal it seemed at the time.

 

I ran to the tent where Dany and her pet barbarians were doing who-knows-what. And as I ran, a black wave of panic bubbled up.

 

Smaug had been right.

 

I suppose I'd known at some level that Mopatis had tricked me. When Mopatis had sold my sister to a horselord, he'd guaranteed that I'd be a threat to their child's succession. And _Khals_ kill threats. Yes, I'd known. But I'd kept it bottled up, and hoped it'd go away. My claim had been finished as soon as that tattooed ape had put a child in Dany. Unless I was willing to bow and scrape for their little "prince", I'd be a dead man walking. And if they found out I had a dragon of my own --

 

I shoved aside a stinking tent flap.

 

"D-Dany -- dragon," I said

 

It came out as a gasp. I'd been running harder than I'd thought.

 

Danaerys looked up from a shredded chunk of horse heart. Raw. Blood was smeared around her mouth. She looked like Smaug had, a few moments ago. The interruption seemed to snap her out of a trance. She looked up in bewilderment, and then her frame shook, suppressing a heaving stomach of her own.

 

Across the tent, Khal Drogo stood. The braziers' fire painted weird shadows on Drogo, which rippled across his tattooed body. Drogo jabbered something to his fellow animals. It sounded angry.

 

"W-wait!" Dany said. "No! My brother -- _Qoy_ \--"

 

Her speech degenerated into Dothraki. She held up her hand, shuddered for a moment, and swallowed hard, forcing down the raw horsemeat.

 

Drogo relaxed. Slightly. Danaerys turned to me.

 

"Viserys...I...What is it? What do you want?"

 

_'What is it?' 'What do I want?' As if I'm a supplicant, come to beg to the Queen of Creation?_ I thought.

 

Looking back, I still feel a frisson of fear when I realize how close I came to striking her, then and there. Her husband's merry men would have probably strangled me to death before I could lay a hand on her.

 

But...I had a dragon. Oh, thank the gods...I had a dragon. I bit my lip and tried again.

 

"Dragon--your egg--it--" I took a breath. "One of your eggs hatched. It's attacked your maid. There's a fire in the tent..."

 

_Your egg._

 

The words tasted like bile to say.

 

_YOUR egg._

 

Dany's eyes widened into saucers. She jabbered panicked Dothraki at her husband. Drogo glanced from Dany to me, and then shouted to a group of particularly ugly riders. They dragged me out. The lead brute, a scarred man with a broken tooth, demanded in pidgin that I show him the scene.

 

I learned that the Dothraki wanted Dany to slurp down the last chunk of horsemeat before following us. And like the good Khaleesi that she'd become, the bitch did just that. Just put her own family's legacy -- her family's dragon -- on hold, so she could play at queen of the savages.

 

And so, raw horsemeat still churning in her stomach, Dany and her rutting-partner deigned to come to see Smaug a minute or two after I arrived. The dragon had curled himself around the half-eaten body of milady's maid, in the remains of a burning tent. The Dothraki shouted up a storm, but they wouldn't get near him. Pieces of eggshell were scattered artfully around Smaug.

 

And Smaug was mute.

 

Perfectly, smugly mute.

 

Have you ever seen a dragon smirking? It's the eyes. They do it with those eerie eyes.

 

"It's..." Dany said. "I--What do I--"

 

Dany was looking at Smaug slack-jawed. One hand was covering her mouth. There were tears on her cheeks, if you can believe it. The rest of her savages just gawked like the superstitious fools they were.

 

"The fucking thing won't respond to me," I lied, trying to force bitterness into my voice instead of fear. "Never mind the maid! The dragon's young; it didn't know any better. _Command it._ You're a Targaryen, aren't you?"

 

Danaerys looked at me for a moment as if she hadn't understood. And then, she nodded, and stretched out her hand.

 

"C-Come," she said.

 

Her voice was stern. She'd removed most of its quaver.

 

"No, Khaleesi, don't--!" Jorah began, almost ruining it. But he didn't, thank the Seven.

 

Still wordlessly, Smaug gave a little, _"Snirrrrl!"_ and fluttered onto Dany's arm. He ran his head down Dany's shoulder like a cat. She flinched. Smaug purred.

 

Looking for all the world like a normal, voiceless dragon.

 

And how the savages around Dany gasped. Drogo roared in approval.

 

Smaug caught my eye from his new perch, clutching at a piece of Dany's jewelry. His smirk deepened. I didn't need to play-act my discomfort.

 

"Well," I said. "I guess you've got your dragon... _Khaleesi_."

 

I swung on my heel and stalked toward my tent, exhaling in...I wasn't sure. Relief? Anger? Fear? Anticipation?

 

The Dothraki didn't stop me. Amid the awed babbling, though, I heard whispers behind me, and a few chuckles.

 

_Khal Rhaggat._

 

_Khal Rhae Mhar._

 

I clenched my fist and promised myself a bottle of wine. It had worked. His plan had worked.

 

Patience.

 

Just a couple years' patience. Let them laugh at the Cart King while they could. And then, we would burn them all.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The stump at the end of my arm, where my hand had once been, still throbbed. The wine barely helped.

 

I took a breath and pushed the tent flap aside. I noticed that even the guards stood several paces away from the entrance.

 

Smaug was waiting for me, curled around his pile of gold like a snake strangling its prey. The lamplight and yellow glow of Smaug's eyes blended together. Eyes that I could no longer look away from. Smaug's growing hoard gave off a sickly shimmer, as his tail undulated back and forth across it. Back and forth.

 

Smaug had reached the weight of a horse now, or near enough. His shape was all wrong, though. He was more winged snake than dragon. A fat orange worm.

 

Smaug grinned when he saw me.

 

"Well?" he said. "What do you think of my new hoard?"

 

The same question. Every night, the same question.

 

"It's the same--" I said.

 

"It is not the same hoard!" he hissed, stabbing his claw toward the base of his pile. "There's an opal! Right there! A new opal! Are you blind, boy?"

 

I clenched my fist -- the only one I had left -- and breathed.

 

"Y-yes..." I said. "You're right. An opal. I was a fool to miss it."

 

Smaug's expression changed into that sly, shifty look I'd come to know. That expression had been spreading throughout the Khalasar, as the Dothraki dreamed dragonish dreams, and thought dragonish thoughts. Brothers wore that expression when they stabbed each other for jewels. Shipwrecked men drowning in a golden sea.

 

"You've learned now, haven't you, Beggar King?" Smaug said, his voice soft and lilting. "You know better than to _wake the dragon_ now. Eh?"

 

Despite my best efforts, I felt my chest tightening in rage. It was enough to overcome my fear. This time. For now.

 

"You let Drogo take my hand!" I said. "What use am I to you mutilated or dead?"

 

Smaug made a booming noise that sounded something like laughter.

 

"You did it to yourself, boy," he said.

 

"You swore an oath!" I snapped. "We're bound my magic -- I -- even _you_ wouldn't be vile or foolish enough to break--"

 

His tail lashed out, whipping within an inch of my throat. I found that I was frozen.

 

"I swore no oath to save you from your idiocy," he snorted. "As for the magic...Did I chop your hand off? Well? It was your own folly to insult Drogo in front of his bloodriders. And I didn't feel like bending his will that day. Remember that, boy. All I need do to punish you is to take my protecting hand away. No pun intended."

 

Did he know how much I loathed him? And yet...

 

_Did I?_

 

Smaug's eyes wavered and rippled in the haze of incense.

 

"Besides," Smaug said, with a toothy smile. "I find you're much less of a nuisance now. Keeps you cringing and out of trouble. And, well -- No sacrifice too great for your Iron Throne, eh?"

 

"But you need m--"

 

Smaug's body puffed up like an adder's.

 

"Pah!" he said. "Need! Need? I am strong, boy. I lie on a bed of gold, with twenty thousand Dothraki screamers between me and my enemies. I eat sweetmeats from the hand of a Khaleesi too stupid to realize I can talk. Need! The joke isn't worth laughing at."

 

The sharp end of his tail withdrew from my throat. I tried to breathe normally again.

 

_Too stupid to realize..._ I thought. Yes. Danaerys was a fool, to coddle this thing. To believe that this thing was a normal dragon. To miss Smaug's dirty looks when she "named" him Balerion.

 

Had it been worth it, back then? I still remembered Dany's shivering arms around my neck as we boarded our ship to flee the Usurper. How many years ago?

 

She was a bigger fool yet to ignore the glittering nightmares that left her hollow-eyed, every night after she visited Smaug. Or the way she could no longer copulate without lying on a bed of coins. I might have pitied her before her husband maimed me.

 

A fool, indeed. _And what did that make me?_ I thought.

 

"An even bigger fool," Smaug said. "You'll never be rid of me. Never believe otherwise. Just remember your iron chair at journey's end, and stop making trouble. Think of the traitors we'll burn, eh? Now -- scratch behind my head, Viserys, and tell me a riddle."

 

I swallowed my pride and began rubbing behind his hornlike ears. One handed. Rings of smoke puffed from his nostrils. They were perfect circles, an art Smaug had taken strange pride in perfecting. His back foot clinked against the gold pile, thumping up and down like a dog getting petted.

 

" _My home is not quiet_ ," I began, " _but I_ \--"

 

Smaug yawned.

 

"A fish," he said. "Try again."

 

" _I am all on my own, wounded by_ \--"

 

"A shield." he said. "I've heard it already. Another."

 

"But --"

 

"Another!" he said.

 

"I don't have any more riddles!"

 

A dangerous snarl shook the scales under my hand.

 

"I shall expect _two_ slave girls this month," he said. "A day without riddles builds up an appetite, you see. And I don't want to hear any more excuses about the difficulty covering up--"

 

There was a scream outside the tent. And another. And another. Voices were shouting; I caught the Dothraki words for "murder" and "treachery". Such shouts were common enough these days.

 

And then, I saw torches racing back and forth behind the tent's fabric. Someone yelled Drogo's name.

 

We shared a look, Smaug and I. And we both bolted for the Khal's tent.

 

_No. Oh, no..._

 

\-----------------------------------------------

\-----------------------------------------------

 

The whole Khalasar raced about as if there had been a battle. I bumped into a man in a hardened leather breastplate. Smaug thudded behind me, winding like a monstrous centipede. The path cleared; even the Dothraki had learned to give "Dany's" dragon a wide berth. Young Dothraki most of all.

 

Bloodriders reluctantly stood aside. We barged into pandemonium.

 

Khal Drogo lay on the floor of his tent, thrashing in his bloodriders' arms. His mouth bobbed like a fish, throat cut. Gurgling. A knife protruded from his chest, for good measure. The tent stank of horseflesh, blood, and dust.

 

A short distance away lay a man with two faces -- one under the other, like someone had peeled away an article of clothing. His body had seen better days; Drogo had taken chunks out of his attacker with an _arakh_. The attacker looked like one of Drogo's bloodriders.

 

_Former bloodriders_ , I thought. Faceless men rarely left the sources of their masks alive.

 

Dany wallowed at Drogo's side, heavy with child. Weeping. Jorah stood guard at Dany's side. Already, the Dothraki were giving one another appraising glances, hands by their swords.

 

_Light sleeper, the Khal..._

 

Smaug narrowed his eyes at the butchered Faceless Man.

 

"Your 'Usurper's' work," he whispered, "or I'm a lizard. This will be more difficult than I expected."

 


	4. Chapter 4

The chaos had spread. Dogs stalked over scattered sleeping mats, nuzzling the bodies of Dothraki dead. Dusty men shook _arakhs_. The blades glinted in the evening sun, or flickered threateningly at other Dothraki. Drogo's great red stallion kicked and snorted at the scent of death. A hot wind carried the smell through the camp. The mighty Khalasar of Khal Drogo was dissolving with the death of its master.

 

"But you must protect my son!" Dany was crying to Drogo's bloodriders. "He is the Stallion Who Mounts The World! You owe him--"

 

One of the brutes spat at her feet.

 

"Nothing," said "No _Khal_ , no _Khaleesi_. We join Drogo in the Night Lands."

 

 _And Drogo's successors will feed Drogo's heir to their dogs when he's born_ , I thought, recalling Jorah's warnings of what a Khal's death meant.

 

The Dothraki nodded to the pyre, where Drogo's body lay, crawling with bloodflies. The body stared at the sky with the same expression of animal stupidity that it had worn in life. It hadn't been the first attempt on the Khal's life -- our ours -- but you only need one success. I caught myself scanning the crowd. Perhaps there were more about.

 

"And _you_ shall go to Vaes Dothrak, woman," the bloodrider added, smiling a brown, crooked smile. "Your pile of gold goes to the strongest!"

 

Daenerys's lip twitched. She turned toward her entourage. Jorah, the false knight, was already watching my sister expectantly. Sweat dripped down Jorah's bald forehead. It ran into the crevices of his mail. All around us, fists tightened around whips, swords, and _arakhs_.

 

I felt my own panic rising. And that was before the bloodrider's words hit me.

 

_Your pile of gold goes to the strongest..._

 

"Jorah," Danaerys said. "Make them--"

 

Smaug roared.

 

The bloodriders froze. Jorah froze. Danaerys's sworn screamers froze.

 

But not Danaerys. No; even then, my sister was more a dragon than I was. Danaerys grinned fiercely at the bloodriders, daring them to move.

 

And then, Smaug lurched away, toward the camp. And his gold.

 

Danaerys's eyes widened.

 

"No!" she shouted. "Balerion!"

 

How my sister had the presence of mind to grab Smaug's wing, I still don't know. But she wasn't grabbing her little 'Balerion' anymore. She was grabbing Smaug.

 

What happened next was too fast for Dany's guards to react to. Smaug snarled. His head whipped around, fangs extended, and his jaws snapped within an inch of Dany's hand. Danaerys fell to the ground with an "eep!" Smaug was on her, pinning her with his forelegs. They stared at each other, faces almost touching. The air warped from the heat in Smaug's throat. Danaerys's eyes were locked in Smaug's.

 

" _Danaerys Stormborn_ ," he sneered. "A piece of advice: I could rip you apart like a wolf devouring a lamb."

 

Smaug wheeled away. He tore through the camp like a burning arrow, leaving my sister wide-eyed and shuddering. Time passed in silence.

 

And that was when the situation truly fell apart.

 

" _Maegi_ ," whispered one of the bloodriders.

 

Another whispered the same. Frightened copper faces with hard black eyes crowded around Dany. Someone spat in her face. The _arakhs_ twitched.

 

_Maegi. Maegi._

 

And you know, I saw Dany again as I hadn't seen her for years: the girl I'd comforted as we rode through wind and salt. My lost little sister.

 

A figure of lobstered steel and mail stepped between the bloodriders and Dany. My sister's Dothraki moved to either side of Jorah, though I could see uncertainty in their faces. All except one -- a lean youth with a wispy mustache.

 

Perhaps I should have drawn my own sword. Should I have stood tall before the Dothraki, do you think, as Rhaegar would have done? Threatened them like Aegon come again? It's too late now, in any case. In that moment of exquisite helplessness, I think I finally admitted something to myself. I couldn't command; couldn't fight; couldn't even look to my sweet sister and beg her _oh please, tell the savages to stop._

 

I had Smaug. We had Smaug. And without him, Dany would die.

 

"Hold them off," I said, slipping past Ser Jorah. "I'll get--Just wait, would you?"

 

With those inane parting words, I ran for Smaug's tent. I didn't wait to hear the response.

 

I stumbled around burning tents, and flying stones, and dying men who cried for water. Whips cracked. Everywhere, there was the smell of iron and spice, carried by scalding winds.

 

And at journey's end was Smaug. And slaughter.

 

So many Dothraki screamers lay in the dust. Some bodies smoked; they had been blackened and burned. Some were in pieces. Some were still alive, choking on blood. The sun painted long shadows on the dying, and Smaug's gold pile winked in the evening light.

 

But the living Dothraki wore expressions that frightened me more. They had surrounded Smaug. They wielded bows, and whips, and swords. All of them stared at the gold with the same frenzy I saw in Smaug's own eyes. Some of the wounded could barely stand, but lust for what Smaug guarded held their ruined bodies upright. They drifted toward Smaug, and toward the gold that had been haunting their dreams.

 

Smaug, too, bled. An arrow had penetrated the soft flesh under one of his legs. It had left a red streak down his stomach. There was a second gash on his abdomen. An _arakh_ must have cut into Smaug's mouth as well, since teeth were missing. His mouth dripped clots of bloody saliva. He'd managed to wind his body so tightly around the gold that I could see glistening red smears.

 

"Come on!" he snarled. "Thieves! Vermin! My teeth are knives! My scales are armor, and my tail a bloody lance! I kill whomever I --AGH!"

 

Another arrow flew from the crowd. It burrowed into the meat of Smaug's belly.

 

As Smaug shrieked in pain, his eerie yellow eyes caught mine, and I noticed that they were no longer calm. They roved back and forth, from the crowd to his gold. Smaug's breath came in pants, like a wounded dog. _Still too small_ , I thought.

 

"No!" I shouted. "Enough!"

 

Dozens of angry copper faces turned on me. Smaug's looked past us all, a thousand miles away. Dazed.

 

 _He's actually willing to die for it_ , I thought.

 

I fought down rising horror that I might be the only level-headed person left. And then, I threw caution to the burning winds.

 

"C-Casterly Rock, you stupid beast!" I shouted. "There's gold there! As much as you want. In Westeros!"

 

Smaug's eyelids twitched at 'gold'.

 

Wondering whether the world had gone mad around me, I pitched my voice in the sing-song shout that Rhaenys had always used to lure her cat down from ledges.

 

"Gold," I said. "Gold, Smaug. As much as you want in Westeros. Lots of gold. Mines full of gold."

 

Smaug tilted his head. He shifted and clinked on the treasure pile. The Dothraki seemed to be leaving me unmolested for now. Perhaps they noticed Smaug's coils loosening.

 

An eternity must have passed.

 

"Casterly Rock?" he said.

 

Smaug's deep, booming voice was almost gone from the pain. His reply was high, and shrill, and slurred from the cut in his mouth.

 

I glanced at the Dothraki. They were muttering again; testing the weight of their swords.

 

"Casterly Rock," I said. "There's gold at Casterly Rock."

 

The bows were rising again.

 

"But not _this_ gold!" Smaug snapped. "This is _my_ gold! They can't have _my_ \--"

 

"You can come back for it! Right back. When you're bigger. And burn everybody. I-isn't that nice?"

 

 _Please_ , I thought,

 

Pant.

 

Pant.

 

Pant.

 

Smaug blinked. Another eternity passed.

 

And then, slowly, Smaug slunk off the treasure pile. He hissed with every step. Precious stones, sticky with blood, dripped from his belly.

 

Smaug's tail was still touching the pile when the Dothraki crowd swarmed over it, like wolves on a stag. Smaug stared ahead -- as far from his vanishing hoard as his vision could reach.

 

"Get the dragon eggs," he said. "I'll retrieve the girl."

 

"We're hatching the--?"

 

"No!" he snapped. "Now, go get the eggs."

 

"A-all right, then."

 

"And Viserys?" he said.

 

"Yes?"

 

"You will never speak of this incident again."

 

I nodded, and ran for the tent, hoping that the savages didn't know what my sister's curiously-shaped rocks were for.

 


	5. Chapter 5

An escape, of sorts. We rode for a long time through dust and wind. But we were still close enough to see the smoke rising from Drogo's _khalasar_ as it died. It was as if a great finger had smudged the burning horizon.

 

Were they still killing each other over that pile of gold? That had been the final madness; it had thicked my blood with cold despite the summer. Dothraki screamers had turned away from Smaug and torn each other apart like pantomime actors responding to a cue.

 

We must have made a strange company. Beside Dany rode Jorah Mormont, still red and sweating like a pig. The wiry young Dothraki with a wisp of mustache was there, too -- the one who had stood by his _khaleesi_ against the bloodriders. His loyalty seemed to have caught Dany's eye. She had given him a post next to her, and he puffed out his chest and grinned. The other Dothraki followed further behind, jingling as they rode.

 

To the rear of our little company was a snub-nosed, stubby sack of flesh named Mirri Maz Duur. She was witch, allegedly. Priestess. _Maegi._ Whatever one called her, woman stank of poultices and sweat, and had smelled that way back when we found her. Dany had retrieved her from a group of Dothraki raiders with more lust than taste. Only desperate men or Dothraki would have been willing to rape Mirri Maz Duur. But I suppose she was an improvement on their mounts. Only Dany (and Smaug, for some reason) had paid her any attention before Drogo's death. And now Smaug had brought her along.

 

I rode behind them all, cradling a single dragon egg to my torn purple tunic. The other egg had been stolen from its hiding place. Probably lost forever.

 

It wasn't much of a _khalasar_ , all told. Some were too old; others were too young. A few dozen ambitious screamers had seen the potential of a _khalasar_ with a dragon, but those worried me as well. And who knows? Maybe Robert's next assassin rode among us, too.

 

I squinted, and shielded my eyes as I watched Smaug float toward the horizon. He was a black bat against the sun. Wounded he may have been, but Smaug had been wise enough to guard his wings. And he needed to eat.

 

His shape got smaller. Smaller.

 

Dany must have stopped ahead, since horses snuffed and bridles clinked. I'd already halted my mount to watch Smaug's flight.

 

"Viserys?" Dany said.

 

"Hmh?"

 

By now, Smaug was barely a speck in the sky.

 

"You didn't seem surprised, Viserys. When he talked."'

 

"Mmh?" I said. "Er...these things happen, I guess."

 

Even the dust of Smaug's flight winked into nothing. Some poor herdsman would soon be mourning the loss of his livestock.

 

_Or a parent might soon be mourning--_

 

"Dragons don't talk," Dany said.

 

Something about the way she said it -- a sliver of steel beneath the sweetness -- made me turn. Daenerys was sitting up in her cart despite her belly, her purple eyes streaked with red from the dry heat.

 

I smirked.

 

"In that case, you've gone mad," I said. "But just the same--UMPH!"

 

Someone jerked the back of my collar hard. The force snapped my head like a blow, and my world turned wrong-side up. I was pulled from the saddle. Strong, tattooed hands pinned my wrists and legs to the ground. I struggled, but that only got the dust in my face. When my teeth clenched, I felt the hard crystals of dust grinding into them.

 

"Get off me!" I said. "I am the dragon! _The dragon!_ When Smaug gets back, he'll burn your flesh off and tear you--"

 

"Smaug?" Dany said. "You called him Smaug, Viserys."

 

My sister was looking down on me, still in her cart. Her face had no expression, save a slight curl of contempt on her lips.

 

"I, ah..." I said. "Sweet sister, please..."

 

Still wearing her emotionless mask, Dany nodded to Ser Jorah. He alighted from his horse, wound up a metal fist, and slammed it into my cheek. Stars exploded.

 

When my vision and the throbbing pain had cleared enough to see my sister, she tilted her head slightly to one side. As Smaug occasionally did, when pondering.

 

"You call me...'sweet sister?'" she said abstractly. "Ah, I remember...You would let the whole _khalasar_ rape me to earn your throne, as I recall. That's what you said once, isn't it, Viserys?"

 

"Sweet--er, Daenerys! Let me go, or...You're making me angry, Dany. You're going to wake the--"

 

"Hit him again, Ser Jorah."

 

He did. A second jolt of pain rocked the other side of my head. I heard myself let out a high, wordless scream, as if from a long distance. I kicked and thrashed, until Dothraki fists thumped me back into whining stillness.

 

"Who is...What is Smaug?" Daenerys said. "I'm going to confront him anyway; there's no point in lying."

 

"No!" I said. "N-no...please don't...He's no one! I was a fool. Just stop hitting me; I don't know anything. And neither does he...It! _It!_ It's just a dragon, Dany!"

 

The mask dropped; Dany's eyes widened.

 

"You're terrified of him," she said quietly.

 

"I swear it's only a dragon, Dany," I said. "Only a dragon. Just don't annoy it; I can handle him--it...I--I don't....oh, please..."

 

Dany leaned back, scanning the faces of her new _khalasar_. Measuring them. Her fingers tightened around the reins.

 

To this day, it maddens me to wonder what Dany would have decided. What might have been. But two things happened in close succession.

 

First, the cry went up among the Dothraki that Smaug had reappeared on the horizon.

 

And second, Danaerys's birth pangs began.

 

\--------------------------------------

\--------------------------------------

 

Nighttime.

 

I paced like a fool in front of Dany's birthing tent. Bloodflies buzzed and skittered around the bobbing silk tent flaps. I caught a glimpse of Dany's legs, tangled in a blanket. Girls bustled in and out with wet cloths, and a flagon of water. I caught one by the arm.

 

"What's happening?" I shouted.

 

The girl shook my hand off. Evidently, even the serving-girls had learned their _khaleesi's_ contempt...

 

"The _khaleesi_ wants the dragon's egg," she said. "To hold on to."

 

I gave her the egg.

 

There was a trace of something else in the air that night. It was an alien, suffocating feeling.

 

It had started when Mirri Maz Duur had waddled into the birthing tent. The Dothraki had tried to pull her out, but Smaug had hissed at them, and they let her go inside. Smaug and the toad-woman had exchanged an odd look before she had gone in.

 

Smaug watched at the threshold, yellow eyes glowing in the night. Still and smiling, like the statue of a sphinx. I suddenly realized that the bloodflies were gone now. The buzzing sound I'd been hearing the past few minutes had been something else. Like tiny, distant flutes.

 

There was a scream. It hadn't been my sister's. One of the the serving girls rushed out, hands red with blood. Strange shadows passed across the flickering brazier. They danced on the sand silk. Things with too many mouths, and strange limbs.

 

Smaug held up three of his talons.

 

"The usurper, Robert Baratheon," Smaug said.

 

Now Dany _did_ scream. Women's screams were not new to me after my time in the _khalasar._ But Dany's cry was more painful and piercing than anything I'd ever heard.

 

Smaug lowered one of his talons, like a man ticking off a list with his fingers.

 

The wind picked up, swirling dust into the air. The wind, too, had begun to howl. The remaining serving-girls were fleeing the tent now, eyes wide in fear. All except the toad-woman, Mirri Maz Duur.

 

"The traitor Varys, Master of Whisperers," Smaug said.

 

Smaug lowered a second talon. Dany shrieked again. The light of realization began to dawn on me.

 

_Life for life..._

 

"STOP IT!" I shouted. But my words were caught in the wind. Smaug smiled like a lion-lizard.

 

"The traitor--"

 

Dany shrieked again, and the sound drowned out Smaug's final choice. Dany's cry was long and loud, a single agonized syllable that did not stop until Dany's lungs ran out of air. And then she breathed, and screamed louder.

 

I swallowed and forced myself through the tent's opening.

 

And saw.

 

I still don't believe most of the things I glimpsed in the brazier's flickering. And I try to forget the rest. Madness and nightmare don't do justice to whatever Mirri Maz Duur had called up. I don't know how long I ended up gibbering and weeping on the ground when the toad-woman shook me. Seconds? Hours? Not long enough.

 

But I remember the baby with crystal clarity.

 

Dany's baby. My nephew.

 

It was only when I saw what had been born dead from Dany's womb that I began to vomit.

 


	6. Chapter 6

They had set up Dany's tent on the shore of a spring-fed pool. Inside, the air was wetter and cooler. Or at least it was slightly less dry. A finger of light shined through a hole in the silk. It painted red the dragon's egg that Dany clutched to her chest.

 

Outside, a fire crackled. The remaining slave-girls were heating Dany's copper tub. My sister bathed constantly now. It had been that way ever since Dany had seen my nephew's body. The babe had been a twisted clot of rotting flesh, and wings, and worms; its scaled skin had sloughed off at the touch. Dany's skin was almost pink now from incessant hot water and scouring. The spiceflower and cinnamon from her baths blended with another smell. You may know the one: the earthy-sweet, sickly smell of the old and the diseased. The tent reeked of it.

 

"We burned the witch," I said. "Mirri Maz Duur. You shouldn't have spared her back then."

 

Dany did not move. Her eyes followed a jewel on a string that shifted with each breeze. Smaug had hung it above Dany's bed while she was still asleep and feverish. It had once hung around Dany's neck, where a littler Smaug had batted it.

 

"The witch tried to kill you," I said. "And...Drogo's son. She's dead now. Smaug thinks it's best if you stay in your tent and cart until we reach--"

 

"Such a dutiful uncle," Dany said. "Tch."

 

She said it with a sneer; a mocking sarcasm.

 

"Ah...yes," I said. "Well, we killed her, like I said..."

 

"You killed a scapegoat," she said. "Smaug sent Mirri Maz Duur into my tent."

 

I felt a chill run through my bones.

 

"How did you hear about that?" I said. "You were barely conscious. Hallucinating. And the maids weren't supposed to--You couldn't have known--"

 

Dany looked up. And, by the Seven, her expression was as hollow as I'd ever seen.

 

"I didn't know," she said. "Not until just now."

 

There was silence for a time, except for the flies buzzing around the table. Two days' worth of food had piled up uneaten: fruit and cheese and fry bread, and a jar of honeyed wine.

 

"I thought for a while it was you," Dany said, almost in monotone. "You'd always hated Drogo. Ever since he took your hand for insolence. He should have done worse....But you wouldn't have had the nerve to kill Drogo's son."

 

Dany furrowed her brow. She must have seen something in my face, since she nodded to herself, and then continued cradling her egg.

 

"It was your fault," she continued. "You didn't discipline him, whatever he is. That was the problem."

 

I swallowed. Unbidden, I remembered a deserter that Smaug had captured the day before. One of Dany's screamers had had enough of the bewitched _khalasar_ , and had tried to flee with a slave girl. Smaug had found him. Smaug had carried the Dothraki hundreds of feet into the air, and dropped him. The man's screams had grown louder and louder as he fell to earth, which he'd hit like a stone from a catapult.

 

I glanced at the entrance, and back.

 

"Enough," I said. "You don't 'discipline' Smaug, Daenerys. You stay in your tent and _do what he says_."

 

"I don't fear him like you do."

 

"No, no, no. No, Dany. Listen to me. Mirri Maz Duur worked alone," I said. "Look at me. She worked alone. Smaug didn't speak to you earlier because he was afraid that the Dothraki would brand you a witch. That's all. That's why Smaug stayed silent. Now...Smaug's going to come in here soon, and explain it all to you, and _you're going to believe him_ , you hear me? Every word, Dany. You'll believe every word, and smile, and..."

 

I realized that I was squeezing her arm hard enough to leave bruises. But she hadn't said anything. She didn't voice a whisper of complaint, as she once might have done. Daenerys just glared at me with murder in her eyes.

 

"My son is dead," she said.

 

I grabbed her throat, and shoved my face right next to hers. This time, it was intentional. Close enough to feel the warmth of her breath. There was still no reaction. And how I wanted to start smashing things. I let go and drew back my hand. She still didn't flinch.

 

"I protected you," I said. "I sold everything we had to keep you fed and sheltered, you arrogant, ungrateful bitch. You'll do what I say, like you ought to have been doing for months now."

 

"Protection!" she said, with a bitter laugh. "Viserys, you could never protect anything because you were never a true dragon. Your 'protection' left me like this. I don't want your protection."

 

"And I'm tired of protecting you!" I snapped. "You want to know why I sold you to that tattooed animal to get whelped? I was sick of it! Sick of taking care of you, and selling our memories for you to eat up. So you'll shut up, or so help me--"

 

_"You killed my son!"_

 

She'd shouted it in my face. Another jolt of fear shot through me, and I shoved a hand to her mouth and looked at the tent flap to make sure nobody had heard. Dany bit my hand. Hard. Still watching the door, I fought the twin urges to beat her within an inch of her life, or snarl in pain.

 

_But she's right..._

 

_Why does everything happen to me? Why?_

 

I took a breath.

 

"Smaug's taking the egg to -- stop struggling and LISTEN! -- he's taking the egg to Astapor," I said. "They train slave soldiers there. Obedient ones. Smaug's ordered me to sell the egg."

 

Dany's eyes widened, and she redoubled her efforts to yank my hand off her mouth with an angry _"Mph!_ ". I pushed her back into the cushions.

 

"Smaug's going to force me to sell the egg, one way or another," I continued. "He's -- I swear I'll hit you if you let his _khalasar_ hear us talking -- he's going to get me to buy slave-soldiers at Astapor. The city. Valyrian blood isn't uncommon on this continent. You can slip into the crowd with Jorah there. Get away."

 

In what seemed like a miracle, Dany finally stopped wriggling. A few seconds passed. I gingerly pulled my only remaining hand (which she'd _bitten_ ) from her mouth. She didn't scream.

 

"All right?" I said.

 

When the silence dragged on, I started to tense, just in case I needed to quiet her again. But Dany surprised me, as she often did.

 

"How obedient?" she said.

 

"How--what? Who?"

 

"The slave soldiers," Dany said. "How obedient are the slave soldiers?"

 


	7. Chapter 7

"You're drunk again, Viserys," Smaug said.

 

And so I was, perhaps. My stomach sloshed with warm wine as we trudged up the pyramid steps. Everything was sticky with sweat. Everything was crumbling red brick. People walked on red streets, guarded red walls, idled at red fountains. They watched bears kill slaves dipped in honey from the red-brick seats of Douquor's Pit. Dusty red haze choked the city, and from the pyramid steps, the reflection pained my eyes. Astapor: the "jewel" of old Ghis. The egg I carried was hot to the touch.

 

"And if I am?" I said.

 

It was the most defiance I'd permitted myself since the...birth. My stomach flipped with each step. Could Smaug hear my heart hammering? And if so, would he think it was just the climb? Wind whistled through empty guard towers, setting my teeth on edge.

 

Smaug shrugged. He was in rare high spirits, puffing smoke rings every fourth step. Smaug's footfalls were heavy; he was the size of a small elephant now, and getting larger. We walked in the shade of his wings.

 

 _Our last chance_ , Dany had said. The little fool.

 

"You worry too much," Smaug said. He nodded at the evening sky, where the faint glow of the new Red Star had just barely become visible. "You think they care, eh? Do you imagine the stars sing of your troubles at night?"

 

"Whenever a new king is born, the Maesters look at the sky," I said.

 

Smaug laughed.

 

"Kings are dust, boy," he said. "And the stars are burning dust, like as not."

 

"And dragons too," I said.

 

I must have expected a snarled rejoinder, or worse, since I couldn't stop a slight flinch as his tail swept past. But Smaug only nodded.

 

"And dragons too," he said. "Yes. You want to be happy? Let me give you a piece of advice, then: Seek out gold, and sit on it."

 

"That's...it?"

 

"You can also sort it into piles occasionally, if you like," said Smaug.

 

But there was something in his voice that made me wonder whether he actually believed that.

 

Daenerys walked in silence beside us. She'd dressed in a white, gauzy thing that kept the heat at bay better than my boots and tunic. Jorah walked behind her, baking in leathers and armor.

 

"A case in point," Smaug said. "Your sister there. Did you know I'd planned to marry you two together eventually? Eh? I have a proprietary interest in the Targaryen bloodline now, you see. But the witch..."

 

Smaug's tail twitched like an irritated cat's. Dany's womb would bear no more children. I'd racked my brain for days trying to figure that one out, before abandoning the question as futile. Had Smaug known, and sacrificed Dany's ability to bear children along with her child? Or had Mirri Maz Duur declined to mention some of the spell's effects to Smaug? Smaug, of course, had hinted privately that Mirri had tricked him. But those had only been hints. Or lies.

 

More pressing was another question: What did Smaug want me to _pretend to believe_ about it?

 

"Well, the witch is gone now, so..." I said, and vaguely waved my hand.

 

Smaug nodded again. "Just so," he said.

 

"I had a dream last night," I said.

 

"Oh?"

 

"You were burning down a palace around me," I said.

 

Smaug snorted.

 

"You're uncommonly bold today, boy," he said. "But a king shouldn't tremble at grumpkins and snarks."

 

We'd reached the summit. A cluster of Astapor's worthies waited for us, standing in the shadow of a harpy statue's wings. At the back of the crowd, I noticed a tall, slender man. There was something oddly familiar about him. He had a sharp nose, and eyes as black as his hair, and he cradled his Dornish spear like a man who knew how to use it. A tiger among cattle.

 

There were women with him. A few looked at me with insolent appraisal. Oh, I was handsome enough back then -- though few remember it now -- but there was more challenge than lust in those looks. It was the same expression that the spearman wore.

 

Astapori slaves with crossbows watched Smaug and the Dothraki with equal caution. Their masters sampled fried octopus drowned in spice; I could smell it from across the platform.

 

"Remember," Smaug whispered. "Just as we rehearsed."

 

A few Unsullied were there as well. When I saw their empty expressions, I recalled stories I'd heard. Essosi told tales aplenty about Astapor's eunuch-soldiers. They were men who felt no pain, it was said, and who earned their posts by killing newborn children. I looked at them, and believed all the stories.

 

 _Yes,_ I thought. _But only a few Unsullied._

 

Dany caught my eye. Fear. The same thought must have crossed both of our minds: _Not enough_. A wave of relief flooded through me. It was over, and Daenerys wasn't going to get us killed. Not today.

 

My relief ended when my sister set her jaw and marched forward again. I'd seen that look of stupid determination before. Jorah's hand tightened around his sword's hilt. I mouthed, _no_. Dany ignored me.

 

Dany addressed a fat man with an oiled black beard, who stood at the head of Astapor's delegation. He smelled of peaches. Dany hailed him with a barbarous name that contained too many s's and z's.

 

"Good Master," she continued, "The terms, as I understand it, were these: Unsullied for a dragon's egg. We have the egg."

 

Here, Dany held out her arm to me. I looked at Smaug, who tilted his head, but nodded. I unwrapped the egg and gave it to Daenerys, trying to avoid looking directly at Smaug.

The Good Master turned to his companions, and talked in a low voice. One of the Astapori smirked at Daenerys. I noticed that I'd been tapping my fingers rapidly against my leg, and stilled them.

 

 _Whatever you're saying_ , I thought, _the dragon can understand you. Fools._

 

"Sufficient to be buying two of thousands," the Astapori said, with a contemptuous smile. But in Valyrian, I noted.

 

"We've proved the egg can hatch a dragon," Daenerys said. "An animal I'm told that Ghis could have used, once."

 

"A dragon who speaks," Smaug added.

 

That sent a collective shudder through the Good Masters of Astapor, for all they tried to hide it. Even the Dornish spearman blinked. Astapor's Masters jabbered at each other in low, excited voices. I could already see a familiar lust in their expressions.

 

"Give me eight thousand Unsullied," Dany said, "and you may have my dragon's egg."

 

The man licked his lips, all but drooling, his eyes fixed on Smaug's. He swayed whichever way Smaug did, like a mouse watching a cobra. _Is this what I look like to everyone else?_ I wondered. _This fat man-puppet, dancing on Smaug's strings?_

 

"Eight of thousands," he said. "It is too much..."

 

"Eight thousand, plus whatever others are guarding the city," Dany said, " _and_ provisions. _And_ these slaves as well, with the crossbows. I like the look of them. The price can rise further, Good Master. It won't drop"

 

"Eight thousands!" he said, almost whining. "But....Too much, _khaleesi_! What guarantee do you give? If hatching of the egg, there is none--"

 

"That's your risk," Dany said. "Those are my terms for a dragon's egg. Take another look at the finished product, Good Master."

 

Dany's invitation was unnecessary. The man was already drowning in Smaug's yellow eyes. He licked his lips again, and spittle remained on his oiled beard.

 

Dany stretched out her hand.

 

"The whip?" she said.

 

The Astapori man slumped, like a beaten animal. He spoke to one of his compatriots, who looked just as bespelled. With shaking hands, he offered Dany a whip inlaid with gold. It was a wicked-looking thing; its pommel was shaped like a woman's head, with ivory fangs.

 

Smaug took his own step forward.

 

"I'll take that, Good Master" said Smaug, his claws outstretched.

 

I felt a sinking feeling in my belly.

 

 _He knows._ I thought. _Of course he knows--_

 

"Sweet sister!" I said. "Now -- ah -- let's give it to Smaug, for safekeeping--"

 

Dany's nostrils flared. She tensed, and stepped to the side, placing me between herself and Smaug. She rounded on the Astapori.

 

"How much would you pay for our dragon?" she quickly shouted.

 

For a moment, the Astapori stared in blank incomprehension. For the first time, Smaug's viper's eyes widened. Something glowed in his throat.

 

"No!" I said. "Dany! We don't--"

 

"Give me all of the Unsullied, and you can have our dragon," Dany said. "If you can subdue it."

 

_My sister is dead._

 

I bit my lip, and inwardly mourned the inevitable. I lashed my brain for ideas. There were none. At least I was between her and Smaug, but that just meant I'd burn first.

 

And then, the black-eyed Dornish man's spear-butt moved, quick as a striking snake. In a fluid motion, it snagged the Astapori whip and flipped it into my chest. I half-caught, half-fumbled it -- more a coward's reflex than anything.

 

I can still see that bizarre tableau when I close my eyes. Smaug, reaching to shove me out of the way, so that he could roast Dany. My sister, tensing to jump backward, but not far enough. Slaves and Unsullied, raising their weapons. The Good Masters of Astapor, practically drooling with need. And in the middle of it all, a Dornishman who held the future on a knife's edge.

 

"The bargain was made," the Dornishman said. "The egg for the slaves. The King and princess get the whip."

 

Looking back on it, it's only fitting that my first coherent thought was, _'The king'...who?_

 

It was Smaug who recalibrated first.

 

"The Unsullied are mine," he snarled.

 

Now it was the Dornishman who recalibrated, measuring Smaug, shifting the spear slightly. Those black eyes seemed to take in the entire scene at once: Dany, the dragon, and me. The Astapori were shaking their heads. Whatever Smaug had been doing to them, it was wearing off.

 

I noticed also that the Dornishman was avoiding Smaug's direct gaze.

 

"You'll have guards enough in Dorne, I think," he said.

 

"I don't who you are, but I have guards enough _now_ ," Smaug said. "Give me the whip--"

 

"I am Oberyn Martell, Prince of Dorne. "

 

Every so often, when the fire is burning down and I've had too much wine, I like to play the Game of Regrets with myself. Why this? Why not that? I can no longer count how many times I've replayed our standoff in Astapor. And I don't know whether it was fear or greed that made my decision for me.

 

Dany was giving me a pleading, desperate look. It wasn't the cold stare of the _khaleesi_ , which I'd come to know and hate. It was the look of little Princess Daenerys.

 

Or maybe that's just what I wish I'd seen back then.

 

"Th-the whip is mine!" I said. "Mine _and Smaug's!_ We accept the protection of Dorne!"

 

And that was when the dice were truly cast.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Whenever I'd bothered to think about it at all, I'd always imagined that I'd marry in a grand, gilded sept. But the gods and Doran Martell had decided otherwise.

 

True, the little sept was nice enough. And I'd never been particularly devout. (In fairness, the gods hadn't been enthusiastic about me, either.) But the incense, the sunlight dancing in the seven-sided crystal, and the old hymns still stung. The statues' inlaid amethysts glittered in welcome. Once upon a time, a younger Viserys had stolen Mother's set of idols, and played with them like toy knights. I'd pressed the Stranger statue into service as a mighty warlock, who'd kidnapped the Maiden. (Why, precisely, the warlock had kidnapped her I don't recall. No doubt to commit some outrage that an older Viserys wouldn't have batted an eye at-- assuming an older Viserys didn't join in.) In any event, back then, the Warrior had stood in for Good Ser Viserys, as he rushed to save his damsel fair...

 

Also, cramped and clouded with incense it might have been, but it was too small for a dragon to enter. For the next few hours, I could breathe again.

 

Speaking of damsels, the buxom, dark woman draped in Doran's cloak exceeded expectations. One of the few advantages of overseas exile is that the flat, pudgy princesses of your childhood grow up. Arianne Martell, Princess of Dorne, had grown up. She was still short for my tastes, but the husky voice and the _looks_ she kept giving me compensated. I still don't know how they'd squeezed her curves into that green silk dress.

 

True, there were rumors about her history. But the idea of disciplining the (alleged) whorishness out of a new wife was very low on my priorities at that moment.

 

Doran's wheeled chair creaked as he leaned over. He and Oberyn touched an arm each.

 

"A moment," Doran said. "Ah-ah-ah...Your Grace--not too loudly, though."

 

Doran tilted his head fractionally toward to the leaded window. Smaug's shadow was choking off light to the tinted panes, in contrast to the rainbow of colors from the other wall. Smaug had curled up on the lawn outside. He was sunning his wings. Not right next to the window, perhaps, but close enough.

 

"The dragon guards you and your sister night and day," Doran said. "Very committed to your...welfare. We wouldn't want to disturb your guard dog with your worries, when he has so many of his own, mh?"

 

I felt my chest clenching, like a fist closing around me from the inside. _Again. It was happening again._

 

"I...ah..." I said.

 

Doran waved my nascent reply aside.

 

"There are gaps in the story," he said. "Perhaps His Grace can fill them in?"

 

I told Doran the approved account, which Oberyn had already heard. After Robert's assassin killed Drogo, we'd fled to Astapor. We'd enlisted the help of a witch to kill our enemies. The witch, Mirri Maz Duur, had tricked both Smaug and me. She'd killed Dany's child to fuel the spell.

 

"Three deaths," Doran murmured. "Robert?"

 

I nodded.

 

"Tywin?"

 

"Yes," I said. "And Varys."

 

Doran raised an eyebrow.

 

"The Spider?" he said. "Why would you kill the eunuch?"

 

He ought to have asked, _Why would Smaug kill the eunuch_ , but I didn't correct him. And unfortunately, Smaug had never told me the answer. I gave Doran my best guess, and tried to sound confident.

 

"He was my father's spymaster," I said. "We--" ( _Smaug_ , I thought _, probably_ ) "--We believed that Varys had sent the Faceless Man. The one who killed Drogo. With Robert and Varys dead, the Iron Throne would have been too busy to stop us while we escaped for Astapor."

 

Doran rubbed his swollen, gouty fingers. The assorted wedding guests dutifully kept chatting. None of them looked in our direction as they maintained the low buzz of conversation. Even Arianne averted her eyes from us, tracing the painted walls of the sept.

 

"It fits," Oberyn said.

 

Doran nodded.

 

"It fits," Doran agreed. "Though I almost wish His Grace had spared the eunuch. They say the whoremonger stepped into the center of Varys's web. We've fenced with Varys for years. Petyr Baelish is an unknown quantity."

 

"Who's Baelish?" I said.

 

"Stannis would have been a better target as well," Oberyn said, as if he hadn't heard my question. "There are reports that he burned Robert's bastards when he reached King's Landing. The ones who'd escaped Cersei, anyway. Burned them right along with the Lannister adulteress herself. What blessing did Stannis demand from his Red God, do you think?"

 

Doran shook his head.

 

"That's your area," Doran said. "You trained with the warlocks."

 

"No way to know until it happens," Oberyn said with a shrug. "Unless we take protective measures with our own blood mag--"

 

"No!" I said.

 

I'd been much louder than intended, but the courtiers must have been past masters in this game. Only a few flinched. Doran and Oberyn looked squarely at me for the first time.

 

"Your Grace?" Doran said.

 

"You won't breathe a word to Smaug," I said. "Stannis's blood magic--nothing. I--"

 

"Why?" Oberyn said. He rapped out the word like a _cyvasse_ player seizing an elephant, an eager look on his face. He'd expected this conversation.

 

"I don't need to give a reason," I said. "I'm _king._ "

 

The Red Viper's fingers gave an instinctive twirl where he'd normally be holding his spear. Those black eyes watched me from under thick brows. Doran, too, was watching me carefully. The two men exchanged looks.

 

"You're king because I came to Astapor," Oberyn said. "I came to Astapor because the whole world knew you'd hatched a dragon. You don't keep secrets very well, you three. Whatever it is, you might as well tell me now."

 

"Dany must have told you--"

 

"She gave me accusations," he said. "Suspicions. She is...not clear-headed."

 

I looked around me. A foolish precaution; they would hear whatever they heard. I knelt down and grabbed the blanket on Doran's legs, trying to speak as quietly as possible.

 

"Get Dany out of here," I whispered. "Get her out. Sneak her out somehow. And don't tell the dragon that he needs to build a protective shield out of blood magic."

 

I looked at Doran for a long time, willing him to make the connection. He did. And he shared another look with Oberyn.

 

"Ye-es," Doran said. "You are...right, I think. A man shouldn't burden his guard dog with his own problems, as I said. True, Oberyn?"

 

"True," Oberyn said. "Or his king. One never knows what a king may...let slip. Better to handle it for him. Isn't that right, King Viserys?"

 

"Wait, I..." I said. "No! No, no. Wait. If you're saying that you're going to take action against him--You don't understand. You can't fight Smaug--You can't--!"

 

Oberyn caught my shoulders. It was a gentle grip, but there was steel under it. It was like being held by a statue. Oberyn spoke slowly; it was the sort of calm voice you'd use to soothe a skittish horse.

 

"We've said nothing," Oberyn said. "Certainly not about fighting Smaug. His Majesty doesn't need to worry."

 

"But Dany--"

 

"The Princess will be safe," Oberyn said. "We will keep her safe. That is all you need to know. Do you understand?"

 

"But...Yes. I--"

 

 _All you need to know_ , I thought. The carefully-enunciated words sank in.

 

"...I understand," I said.

 

"Goo-ood," Oberyn said. "That is good. So: Perhaps His Majesty would like to get on with his wedding. And maybe tomorrow, His Majesty would like to sit down and discuss other matters. Safer matters, like the Young Wolf's victories over the Lannisters. Agreed?"

 

I can't describe the flood of relief I felt in that moment. Unless you've spent your life hunted, as I'd been -- and caring for a needy parasite, to boot -- you'd never understand. Imagine, for the first time, that someone offers to solve your problems without adding to them. Someone competent. And without many strings, even. Forget about Arianne; in that moment, I would have married Oberyn and Doran Martell.

 

Yes, well. How was I supposed to know how soon it would all come crashing down?

 


	9. Chapter 9

The changes had crept up on Sunspear over the course of many months. If I hadn't seen them before, I wouldn't have noticed. Though the distractions of the war made me notice later than I should have.

 

North of Dorne, Westeros was having an exciting time of it. Jaime Lannister had been captured. Tywin was dead with his army, feeding fish in a Westerlands river. And at this climax, with the Lannisters at his mercy, Robb Stark himself had been stabbed in the dark. The singers' stories said it had been the shade of Joffrey Baratheon. To the east, Stannis moved through the Reach like a thunderbolt. And further east still, other wars had come to the doorsteps of our old haunts in Essos. Word had arrived that the Golden Company had sacked Astapor. Good riddance.

 

Compared to the war-torn chaos around it, Sunspear changed subtly. Sunspear and its environs boasted no battles, nor deaths of kings, nor vengeful ghosts. But a quiet, familiar atmosphere had begun to strangle it.

 

It had started around the time that Oberyn had left for Essos, and I'd taken Arianne to visit Smaug. Arianne had been randy as a hyena in bed since we'd married. When she'd asked to see the dragon, I'd decided to reward her. Yes: I should have known better.

 

The worm was a charming raconteur when he wanted to be. That's something the Maesters forget, when they write about Smaug the Golden, the Terrible, the Impenetrable.

You'd approach Smaug on a hot day, while he was sunning himself. He'd crack an eye open, just enough to shield his eye from the salt breeze. A moment would pass. You'd feel like a child hoping your nurse would wake up and tell you a story. And if you brought a riddle as tribute, he'd indulge you, and tell tales while you ate blood oranges from "his" trees. Smaug loved to hear himself talk almost as much as he loved gold.

 

Arianne liked him. In those first months of our marriage, the Princess of Dorne showed an easy wit. She enjoyed playing monsters-and-maidens through Smaug's verbal mazes. It's the way I prefer to remember her: dark curls tossed back in laughter, trading riddles in Smaug's grove.

 

In those moments, I could almost forget the fact that Smaug had sited his grove under my sister's window. And across from mine. All the better to watch us, and frustrate attempts to move us to more distant quarters. Smaug was massive now; he dwarfed even his new hoard.

 

Even Doran, I heard, went to Smaug in nightly pilgrimages. What they talked about, I don't know. Perhaps they discussed revenge for Elia Martell, Doran's dead sister. Doran spoke of little else anymore.

 

Oh, there was poison beneath Smaug's stories, though you could never catch him out. I always came off as heroic by his telling. But that was the problem. I was always too heroic in Smaug's stories. He might as well have been describing Ser Viserys the Flawless, who shat sunbeams. You only had to cast an eye toward the actual Viserys, who startled at shadows, to know that Smaug was mocking me.

 

Doran's confidence in "protecting" Daenerys now seemed a sick joke. Daenerys was alive still, but only on Smaug's whim. Presumably, only until  Smaug needed another blood ritual.

 

And as for my new wife...

 

As months passed, Arianne Martell's eyes took on an empty aspect. She wore less clothing, and demanded more in bed. I welcomed the change at first, until I recognized her hungry expression for what it was.

 

Arianne took to inviting Tyene Sand into our bed. The slut in question was one of the "Sand Snakes" -- Oberyn's bastard daughter; Arianne's cousin. This, too, I allowed at first, since Tyene seemed comely and soft-spoken. Soon I found her domineering. Tyene was greedy with her pleasure, and when I slapped her for it during one of our sessions, she put a knife to my throat.

 

I forbade Arianne from consorting with Tyene. It availed little; I caught the knowing looks that Arianne and Tyene still passed, though jealous threats met with Arianne's denials.

 

Not that this stopped Arianne's nightly attempts with me. My nights had degenerated into hazes of sweat, and the stench of perfume on stained sheets. Scratches crisscrossed my back. After every performance, Arianne droned on in her deep, liquid voice. Arianne's passion and inventive mind only focused on one thing now. She'd fantasize aloud about the next position, or the next toy. She must have been rubbed raw. I certainly was, and I often wondered whether Arianne even felt pleasure from the act.

 

But I indulged her, in part because my nightmares had gotten worse. Three hours of sleep was a good night. Dreams of brimstone and scales stole the rest. Better to mindlessly rut while half-awake, and wake up to someone who had the same problem. And Arianne was warm.

 

That, and the inevitability of it all. I'd played this game before, and lost.

 

Soon, I was adding Dorne's peppers and strange spices to my meals, just so I could stay awake in the daytime. And alas, I was awake enough to see Doran stealing bleary glances at Smaug's courtyard. It had become a tic. Doran's gout had worsened, though he noticed it less. His hands had swollen into pink gloves.

 

Despite all that, I didn't see the inevitable coming.

 

\---------------------

 

\---------------------

 

I'd spent a long day at the docks. Oberyn had just returned from his sojourn in Essos, and I'd tried to relax by watching Oberyn's men unload his ship. The wares of Essos twinkled in the setting sun; most of them, I assumed, were tribute for Smaug. There were crowns; green jade; a six-foot horn banded in red gold; swords; a ceremonial warhammer nearly the size of a man, inlaid in silver; and much besides. Walking behind Oberyn, men with blue lips alighted on the Dornish shore.

 

I greedily drank my wine, and inhaled the sea breeze until long after dark. Drink, after drink, after drink.

 

That night, I staggered home drunk. Arianne was moaning in our room, which meant that the horny bitch had started without me again. Not that I was complaining; I was so tired.

I opened the door, and squinted through the oil lamps' light at movement on our bed. Up. Down. Up. Down.

 

"Arianne?" I grunted. "Sweetling--um..."

 

I burped quietly and tried to steady my stomach before staggering further into the room. I squinted. Even through a muzzy curtain of wine, I soon realized why Arianne's breasts were bouncing.

 

 _Pretty boys have always been my weakness_ , Arianne had told me once. _Especially the dark and dangerous ones._

 

"K--gah...W-what...?" I said. "...are you...?"

 

The man underneath Arianne was a muscular brute with a neat black beard. It's possible I'd seen him around the palace once. He and my wife gave me the same look of surprise.

 

Arianne recovered first. She twitched her hips and gave me a sheepish little smirk.

 

"Ah, Husband," she said. "Join us?"

 

You know what I thought about, in that moment? What I saw in my mind's eye?

 

I saw the same scene that I'd angrily imagined for months in Drogo's _khalasar_ , which wouldn't leave me alone. Buzzing, buzzing at the edge of my awareness. Khal Drogo fucking my sister.

 

"Who...?" I said.

 

Arianne waved her hand airily, and shook her head.

 

"He's...nobody, Husband. Come to bed with us. It will be fun."

 

Twitch.

 

That imagined scene again: Khal Drogo and Daenerys. _My_ sister. _My_ potential wife and sister. A big muscled ape fucking my sister. Fucking, and pounding, and pounding, like the blood hammering in my skull.

 

I saw red.

 

"Smaug!" I screamed. "SMAUG!"

 

A deep growl shivered the glass panes.

 

The lovers' smirks fell in an instant. Arianne's languid pose tensed. The insolent mass of muscles struggled out from under my wife, babbling -- I don't remember what. He fell to his knees where he belonged, a nobody, hands up, placating, but with Arianne's smell still on him. Arianne was shivering, clutching a sheet to her chest like a shield.

 

"No!" Arianne said. "I--Viserys...Your Grace -- You weren't here, and, and Tyene wasn't -- I thought we could -- it was only another idea for when you--"

 

Smaug's wings thudded in the air behind me. They held Smaug aloft like a monstrous, twisted hummingbird. Smaug tore the window pane out. It crumpled like parchment. Wind shrieked through the room, tipping candles and wrenching tapestries. The whole scene seemed to glow with the sickly yellow reflections in Smaug's eyes.

 

Men shouted down in the courtyard. Whatever they were saying, I was past caring.

 

I swayed with the wine, and pointed.

 

"You..." I said. "You both. I'm going to--"

 

A sound like I'd never heard before cut through everything.

 

It sounded like a thousand souls screaming. The sound touched you; it seared through skin and bones. Later, I would learn that the man who blew that note had burned his lungs to soot.

 

Smaug's own scream a second later shook the masonry. He spun backward, pinwheeling through the air like a bird hit by a crossbow. Smaug crashed to the ground. He writhed, tearing up man-sized clumps of turf. Grabbing his own chest.

 

He breathed a geyser of fire a hundred feet into the sky.

 

I looked beyond Smaug. From the window, I could barely make out the shape of Oberyn Martell, standing beside a dying man and a huge golden horn.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

Another day. My visits to Smaug, where I'd demand his obedience, had become a daily ritual. For all the good they did.

 

_"More than miasma and less than a cloud_

_I rain on the Flowers' tree_

_I drank of princes, whose only offense_

_Was the monarch whose blood they be."_

 

I sighed.

 

"I don't know the answer," I said.

 

Smaug allowed the silence to stretch on, until I began to feel uncomfortable. Well - more uncomfortable. Smaug's eyes roved in the darkness, chains clunking as his body coiled and shifted. His scales rasped together. Smaug didn't have much space; the cavern was small, and he'd been crammed into it like a cobra in a wine goblet. It was a musty place, mildewed and wet.

 

The remains of a palace guard had stained a patch of gold at Smaug's feet. Even under the spell of the dragon-horn, Smaug would not suffer the removal of his treasure. Servants whispered that Doran held nightly conferences, scheming to take the dragon's remaining hoard. But Doran wouldn't dare open action anymore.

 

"Come now, boy," Smaug said. "You're not trying. That disreputable girl of yours was better at this. The one who cuckolded you."

 

Involuntarily, my jaw clenched. Smaug's voice made the cavern shudder. His boasts of old were ringing truer now. _My teeth are knives; my scales are armor..._

 

Guards watched us both closely, crossbows aimed. Aimed at both of us, I think. We were speaking an older form of Valyrian at Smaug's urging, but that wasn't a complete guarantee of privacy.

 

And, oh, yes...my beloved wife. Prince Doran was _quite_ sympathetic, or so he said. A terrible thing. Smaug's fault, of course. And Doran was _most_ distraught that the dear girl had fucked another man. But, well, that's what black magic does to nice, virtuous ladies. Poor thing. Oh, they'd executed her paramour, as a sop to me.

 

" _You_ did that to her," I said.

 

"I, Viserys?" Smaug said, holding a claw to his chest in mock indignation. "I allowed the girl to become her truer self. Everyone does when they know me long enough. Even you," he added with a smile. "Though the Martell fools seem to think you immune."

 

It was too much. Once, I might have wondered, _Why me?_ Or I might have raged at the worm, before I'd known him long enough to fear the consequences. But Smaug was chained...for now...and I couldn't bring myself to feel much of anything but exhaustion. And there was something dreamlike in the air that day, like I was floating.

 

"I'm tired, Smaug," I said. "Don't you ever get tired?"

 

He said nothing. The yellow, unblinking eyes watched my descent as I sank to the floor. Hard coins pressed into my knees. I felt a tightness in my chest.

 

"It goes on forever," I said. "Nothing works. On, and on, and on--"

 

"Kings don't live forever," Smaug said. "Nor do dragons."

 

The response forced a bitter laugh from me.

 

"Dany always wanted to go home," I said. "It's not even there anymore. There's just an iron chair."

 

Smaug shrugged his wings, and snorted.

 

"Nobody can go 'Home', boy," Smaug said. "There is no 'Home'. There are baubles -- iron chairs, say -- and places where you can sit on them. _Free me_."

 

"Stannis's curse," I said.

 

"Eh?"

 

"That's the answer to your riddle earlier. The Tyrells are dying like flies against Stannis. The family tree--"

 

"Yes, yes, yes," Smaug said, his tail twitching in frustration. "Although -- speaking of Tyrells, we can head north after I burn Sunspear down. Change of scenery. The Tyrells' vassals are deserting them; with me at your back, that will change. For your throne, eh, boy? I hear there's a sweet Tyrell girl who might do nicely as a second--"

 

"It'll end the same way," I said.

 

"Ah," said Smaug. "You're learning."

 

"Besides, they keep me under guard now," I said. "I can't get to the Unsullied."

 

"I wouldn't need the Unsullied."

 

"Sometimes I wonder whether they arrange these visits to quiet you down -- or because they hope you'll take a bite at me," I said. "Now that Arianne's safely pregnant, anyway."

 

Or so Smaug had warned me, in a previous meeting. Like so many other suspicions in my life, the thought hadn't originated with me. Smaug's dragon-smile returned. He puffed a miniature smoke-ring, small enough for his cramped new quarters.

 

"Bless me, but you're a fool, boy," Smaug said. "Didn't consider the consequences of enlisting Oberyn against me, did you? Still, he might have given you the horn -- gods alone know where he found it -- if you hadn't threatened his niece with a dragon."

 

"Dany's still alive, at least," I said. _The ungrateful bitch_ , I added silently.

 

Smaug tilted his head, looking me up and down like a hawk waiting for meat from a falconer.

 

"For now," Smaug said, with some glee in his voice. "But a doom lies upon Sunspear. Even the stupider of the two princes senses it. Oberyn's taunting grows shrill."

 

Smaug's threat was solid enough. On that first night, a single blast from Oberyn's dragon-horn had been enough to bring Smaug to heel. The warlocks of Qarth had claimed that that would be the end of it. But the horn's pull had weakened over time. Oberyn's warlocks wove spells; Oberyn's dragon-horn wove spells; Smaug unwove them both.

 

The dragon-horn blasted daily by now. Every day, Oberyn's guards marched a new condemned man to it. The first night's blast had wrenched Smaug around like a puppet. Now, Smaug swayed and hissed when the horn blew, but he kept his gaze always on Oberyn Martell.

 

"All I want is a pile of gold," Smaug said. "Is that really so much?"

 

A strange mood indeed must have come over me that day, since I replied as follows. I don't remember the exact words, but the sense of it was:

 

_"Desired by kings_

_Men hoard them with care;_

_Vouchsafed with rings,_

_But worth less than the air."_

 

"Ha! Ha!" Smaug said. "I'd worried my efforts were wasted on you; I'm pleasantly surprised, despite the poor poetry. _Promises_ , obviously, is the answer. And I take your meaning."

 

"And?" I said.

 

"Have I ever broken a promise, Viserys? I'm chained in a cave at your bidding, remember."

 

It was a fair point. Strictly speaking.

 

"Swear to keep my sister alive and happy," I said. "With an additional oath of good faith, sworn on all the gods and whatever else will bind you. And Arianne--"

 

"Doran's family dies," Smaug said. "You can't save Arianne from me, and even the bargain I'm offering you is a gift. Oberyn's magic tricks are fading. That the Martells would allow you near me at all is proof that they're desperate."

 

That was also true enough. Why send an unreliable, wastrel king to renew his commands to a dragon, if you thought the horn worked?

 

"Is Arianne's child mine?" I said. "I'm asking on the same oath."

 

Smaug the Golden scowled.

 

"Yes," he said.

 

"Dany and Arianne both," I said. "And the child. That's my price. And may you burn in the Seven Hells if you cheat me."

 

Smaug raised what would have been an eyebrow, had he not been a dragon.

 

"You're selfless, as sneaks and liars go," he said. "No protection for yourself?"

 

I'd like to say that I replied without hesitation, but I didn't. It's not easy letting go of your oldest illusion. Especially when it's pulled you out alive through dust and blood; death and filth. And I was afraid to die.

 

"I've always known how my story ends," I said. " _Valar Morghulis._ "

 

Light flared in Smaug's throat.

 

"The blood," he said, "must be given willingly and quickly, before our wardens notice. There are deeper magics than Oberyn suspects. Come closer. Stretch out your arm."

 


	11. Chapter 11

_Swiftly she came to the brink of Cabed-en-Aras, and there stood and looked on the loud water crying: 'Water, water! Take now Níniel Nienor daughter of Húrin; Mourning, Mourning daughter of Morwen! Take me and bear me down to the Sea!' With that she cast herself over the brink: a flash of white swallowed in the dark chasm, a cry lost in the roaring of the river._

\-- From the **_Narn i Chîn Húrin_**

 

\-------------------------------------

*****************************

\-------------------------------------

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Doom came to Sunspear in the early morning, with the dawn.

 

Smaug had broken out of his imprisonment earlier, with a sound like the Wall collapsing. Chains modeled on the ones that had held the Targaryen dragons had snapped. Smaug's tail had swung, smashing and cracking stone. He'd left splintered, burnt rubble behind.

 

Oberyn's "scorpions" had done their best. The Prince of Dorne had sited a score of the giant crossbows on the wooden towers and hills around Smaug's cave. They'd burned picturesquely that morning on their elevated stages.

 

I'd raced to Sunspear. Smaug, in his mercy, had given me time for that.

 

I headed for Sunspear's squat, dromon-shaped palace.

 

\------------------------------------------------------

 

 

Sunspear's watchmen must have seen the fires first, since the bells clanged in warning. I'm told the first sign they saw of Smaug was a pinpoint of wavering light, which grew larger and larger in the sky. The Water Gardens burned next, three leagues away; the pillar of smoke and steam went up for miles. Thus died Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne, burning amid his blood oranges, and pools, and pink marble. And the dragon flew onward.

 

Sunspear's population would have all been asleep in their little mud-brick hovels. This would not last. Within minutes of the alarm, Sunspear's people would have seen a shape like a crow with a sixty-foot wingspan. It flew in silence, silhouetted against the rising dawn.

 

Dany and I watched from the Tower of the Sun. I'd raced there ahead of Smaug, with his consent. My sister turned from the window. She spoke on a slow, soft voice that I still can hear across the decades, late at night when I can't sleep.

 

"What have you done, Viserys?" Daenerys said.

 

"We need to get out of here--" I said.

 

" _What have you DONE?!_ "

 

It was when Smaug reached the Winding Walls that the true panic began. Sunspear's people scurried like ants through alleys and bazaars. They ran for the brick path to the Old Palace -- which, of course, couldn't stop the dragon.

 

"Dany, look," I said. "It was hopeless, and we need to get out of here. It was only a matter of time before Smaug broke through on his own--"

 

"And _Smaug_ told you this?" she said. "The _dragon_ told you this, and you _believed_ him?"

 

"I-I saw it for myself," I said. "That is...The horn didn't work. It was fading--"

 

Dany's voice became shrill. Her eyes watered; the smoke must have been stinging them just as much as it did mine.

 

"Doran told you the horn was secondary!" she said. "He told you that you could control Smaug with that...bond. The blood magic -- He told you! And--and you agreed -- that's why you were going every day to order Smaug to stay obedient -- You knew! They would have killed Smaug if he got close to breaking free. Doran said--"

 

"Doran was wrong," I said. "And too obsessed with revenge to care. And he's ash now. Now, look: I can see you're afraid, but it's fine. It's _fine_ , Dany. Smaug will keep us safe, since I made a deal--"

 

Dany's look of horror twisted into something closer to revulsion.

 

"Safe!" she snarled. "You killed my son. You and your _pet_."

 

The dragon flew in a circuit around Sunspear. Families of townspeople were huddling into boats in the settlement's harbor. Smaug swooped among them before they escaped; the ocean rippled red beneath him. Smaug had great sport burning the boats, one by one. They looked like Braavosi floating candles.

 

We needed to go. Now. But my sister _wouldn't stop talking_.

 

"I told Doran," Dany said. "I told him you were too spineless to control Smaug."

 

"You can't control Smaug!" I said. "You never understood that! _Nothing_ can control Smaug!"

 

"Did you ever try?"

 

"I--"

 

"You protected him at every step. You let me coddle that _thing_ like my own child."

 

My fist clenched at the sheer, bald-faced ingratitude of it all. I wanted desperately to hit something. Her, preferably.

 

"There!" Daenerys said. " _There's_ the real Viserys. The scared little boy who needs his family close to him--"

 

I slapped her. She barely flinched, looking at me with undistilled hatred, her cheek still stinging and pink from the blow.

 

Below us, Sunspear had become a charnel house. A few brave men still shot arrows at Smaug, which rattled off his scales, and fell burning back to earth. Trumpets shrilled. Fire leaped again and again from Smaug's jaws in reply. In passing, Smaug flicked his tail at the roof of the Sandship palace below us. The blow tore through the ugly, dun-colored walls, leaving a gash a foot wide and yards long. Shrieks and wails rose up from the flames of the Shadow City. Stables, inns, brothels and winesinks all burned alike.

 

I suppose Oberyn was dead by then, too. The singers tell two stories about how the Red Viper died.

 

Some would have it that Oberyn strode to meet Smaug, the point of his lance gleaming like a star. And Smaug had loomed tall as a tower, and taunted Oberyn that his brother Doran should have killed Smaug. Smaug descended upon the Prince of Dorne in a cloud of ash. Oberyn, they say, dealt Smaug three great wounds before he died beneath the dragon's claws.

 

The other story says that there was no fight at all. Smaug froze Oberyn with a glance, and spoke to Oberyn at length in unknown, unnatural tongues. Oberyn, they say, died weeping and gibbering, madly begging for death. Smaug obliged. He picked up one of Oberyn's own scorpions as if it was a crossbow, and pinned the Prince of Dorne to the ground like a fly.

 

Chroniclers these days will blend details from both accounts, as it suits them. I can't say I particularly trust either one.

 

But Dany was speaking again. She was hugging herself, staring at the window.

 

"I hear Smaug's voice in my head every day," Daenerys said quietly.

 

"O-oh?"

 

"I only heard Smaug in dreams, at first," she said. "But now I hear him when I'm awake. It's a homily on obedience. ' _Your brother knows best. Smaug knows best._ ' Over, and over, and over, and over..."

 

A great stench billowed above Sunspear; burning meat and wood, and garbage. In retrospect, there was something sickly fitting about it all. Father had often fantasized about burning a city, in his last days, when the madness had taken him. (I sometimes wonder why he didn't put King's Landing to the torch when the rebels closed in. Mercy, perhaps.) In any case, I'd brought Father's fantasy to life in Dorne. Whether Father would have been proud of me or not, I can't say. But he would have loved to watch the fire itself; the glow of copper and blood, and leaping shadows.

 

"Smaug agreed not to kill you," I said. "That was my price. You'll be spared."

 

I considered adding that the voices in Danaerys's head were making a good fucking point when they told her to obey Smaug. She'd nearly gotten us killed with her defiance. Repeatedly.

 

But I bit my tongue, and stayed silent. In part, I was too busy running the conversations I'd had with Smaug through my head again. Now that the fugue had passed, a panicked suspicion was growing in my guts that Dany was right. But more than all that, an old sense of menace, the souvenir of a lifetime of running, pulled me up short. There was something very dangerous in Dany's expression as she backed toward the window.

 

Dany's lip curled in an ugly sneer.

 

"Smaug needed me alive anyway," she said. "As leverage. For you. You bartered Dorne away for something you already had. But you're not going to use me as an excuse ever again."

 

And of course, wallowing in my own fears as I was, I'd missed Dany's crucial last statement. With Dany backing ever closer toward the window, I responded in a way that justified her look of disgust:

 

"I...even if that's true," I said. "It's _not_ true, mind you....But I'll entertain it...If Smaug needs us, so much the better. We'll be safe."

 

"Targaryens don't live as slaves," Daenerys said. "And we will never be _safe_."

 

I couldn't help it. I laughed. Laughed at the sick humor of it. That, you see, was the hubris of my sister, through and through. I laughed until the tang of smoke filled my mouth, and I choked on soot. Right until the end, she was going to live and die on her own terms, Smaug or no Smaug.

 

You should have seen my sister there, in that moment. Her white-gold hair shimmered in the pyre-light of a burning Sunspear. She practically dared me to step forward. It's a shame my sister wasn't born a man; she was the last true Targaryen. And like so much else I've received in my undeserving life, Smaug, too, should have been Dany's.

 

"Come on, Dany," I said. "What are you going to do, kill yourse..."

 

Indeed, she was. And it didn't hit me until that moment.

 

"Wait!" I said. "Get...Step away from the window, Dany."

 

"I won't end up like Arianne," she said.

 

"Step away from the fucking window. _Now._ "

 

I started to move forward and grab her, but Dany's muscles tensed. A thrill of fear shot through me. I stopped. She resumed her slow backward march. Just a foot or two now from the edge. Her face was smooth, and calm, and only her purple eyes showed any emotion. They were streaked with red from the smoke.

 

That _look_ in her eyes was what drove me to make my final mistake.

 

"R-Remember the red door?" I said. "The one you always talk about? We'll...build a winter home with one, just the same, on the outskirts of King's Landing...a-and we can marry--Please Dany, don't..."

 

"Goodbye, Viserys."

 

And she jumped.

 


End file.
